Days later, just as dawn broke across the Azure Sky Sect, a deep bell tolled across the sect. Its heavy, muffled chime reverberated from mountaintop to courtyard, a call that signaled the beginning of something few outer sect disciples could ignore.
Xue Mo stepped out from his simple cave dwelling. He moved with calm purpose, his robe neat, his eyes unhurried. As he descended the stone path winding toward the sect square, more disciples joined the stream flowing toward the gathering grounds.
By the time Xue Mo arrived, the square was already a sea of people. Over two thousand disciples—outer and inner sect alike—had gathered, their ranks forming a colorful gradient from modest brown to dignified green.
There was a buzzing tension in the air. Some whispered quietly, their voices anxious. Others stood proud and straight-backed, eager for the test ahead.
"Senior Brother Wang, you've broken through!"
"Haha, Junior Brother Liu! Didn't you hit the fifth layer too?"
"I can't be expelled... I can't... I can't return like this..."
Xue Mo glanced around as he took a place at the edge of the crowd. Many disciples looked nervous, heads down, hands clutched around their identity tokens. Others carried the calm expression of veterans.
He sat cross-legged in silence, eyes half-closed. He'd already felt several gazes linger on him longer than necessary—disciples who remembered Lin Feng, the hardworking outer disciple with barely any talent.
Before his death and reincarnation.
Among those eyes was one that stood out: Elder Ming, known among the disciples as the Golden River Elder. Though he had yet to descend, Xue Mo had no doubt he would appear. Elder Ming had once spared Lin Feng a word of encouragement during a mission assignment—rare, but not unheard of.
And now, Lin Feng's cultivation had reached the sixth level in nine years.
It wasn't fast.
But for a disciple once ridiculed for his inability to absorb spiritual Qi properly, it was startling.
A shadow shifted nearby.
A plump figure waddled over, face slick with sweat despite the cool morning.
"Eh? You're that Lin Feng, right?"
The voice was cheerful, unbothered. The round-faced disciple dropped into a squat beside Xue Mo and fanned himself with a tattered fan made from mission scrolls.
Xue Mo turned slowly. "Yes?"
"I knew it! I remember seeing you at the east slope mission last winter. You were carrying spirit logs."
"I was."
"Name's Bao Siwen. You probably don't remember me. People usually don't."
Xue Mo gave a noncommittal nod.
Bao Siwen leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially. "Do you think we're getting expelled today?"
"Depends," Xue Mo replied.
"On what?"
"On whether your cultivation can hold up against expectation."
Bao groaned. "Ugh... I've been at the fifth level for three years. I mean, that counts, right? It's steady progress. Not fast, but... not entirely useless either?"
A young girl nearby snorted under her breath, clearly listening. Bao Siwen ignored her.
"I sweat too much during practice," he continued. "Most days, I'm too hungry to train well. You ever try fighting a Woodvine Serpent when you're starving? Not fun."
From a short distance away, another disciple—tall, narrow-eyed, leaning against a pillar—watched them curiously.
"Fatty doesn't shut up," the boy muttered to himself. But he kept watching. Something about their quiet exchange felt different from the usual banter. He didn't know Lin Feng well, but he remembered the name.
The bell rang again.
The air turned heavy.
Seven beams of light descended from the skies.
In the square, silence fell like a curtain.
Five men and two women now stood at the head of the square. They wore black robes embroidered with golden thread, each figure radiating a presence that pressed upon the hearts of those gathered.
Foundation Establishment disciples.
And then it came.
A golden pressure descended from above like a crashing tide.
Qi trembled across the square. Some fell to one knee. Others gritted their teeth and stood their ground.
Xue Mo allowed his face to pale, his breath to catch—just enough to blend in.
A beam of golden light coalesced into a vortex. From its heart stepped a man robed in crimson with golden embroidery that shimmered like fire.
Golden River Elder.
Elder Ming's presence was like a wall pressing in from all sides. His eyes scanned the crowd, pausing for only a moment on Xue Mo.
"Acknowledging the elder!" cried the seven Foundation Establishment disciples.
"Greetings to Golden River Elder!" echoed the square.
Elder Ming spoke, his voice neither loud nor soft, but every syllable struck the chest like a hammer.
"The sect assessment begins now. Any disciple absent at this moment is expelled."
The words rang out again through the seven Foundation Establishment disciples, amplified by their spiritual power.
There was movement at the edges of the square. Some disciples—too late, too fearful—tried to slip into place.
Too slow.
"Let the assessment begin," Elder Ming said. He said no more.
The Foundation Establishment disciples turned to the crowd.
"Those who have been in the sect for three years, stand before me."
"Those who have been in the sect for six years, here."
"Those of nine years..."
Xue Mo stood, brushing dust from his robe. He moved without hesitation.
The nine-year line was thinner than the rest. Only around three hundred stood in it.
Bao Siwen waddled over beside him, still fanning his round face.
"Whew. Good thing I'm right on the edge, huh? I entered right before the last evaluation cycle."
A disciple in green glanced at him with faint disdain.
The Foundation Establishment disciple in charge of their group was a tall man with sharp eyebrows and a colder gaze. He stepped forward.
"Infuse your identity tokens with Qi. Display your status."
Xue Mo pressed his token and allowed a small stream of Qi to enter. A projection appeared above it:
[Name: Xue Mo] [Entered the Sect: 9 years ago – 1073 Kuiyuan Era]
Around him, others did the same.
A loud voice snapped across the square.
"You entered six years ago. Why are you standing here?!"
A ripple of fear spread.
"I—I must've miscounted!" the disciple stammered.
"Miscounted?" The Foundation Establishment disciple sneered.
He made a casual gesture.
Spiritual power surged. The disciple screamed. Blood burst from his body as his cultivation was ripped away.
He fell to the ground, pale and shaking.
Bao Siwen's fan stopped mid-wave. His mouth hung open.
More cries echoed as other impostors were exposed.
Even a few inner sect disciples weren't spared.
Elder Ming remained unmoved, eyes half-lidded.
The Foundation Establishment disciples spoke again.
"You who remain have passed the first stage."
A collective breath released.
Bao Siwen let out a sigh like a punctured wineskin. "My heart... I thought I was done for..."
A few nearby disciples chuckled. Tension cracked. For a moment, they were simply people again.
"Work hard," one of the golden-robed disciples said, almost softly. "Or next time, you won't just lose cultivation."
Elder Ming lifted a hand.
The next phase was about to begin.
Xue Mo stepped back into place. He glanced up once.
Elder Ming met his eyes, just for a moment.
Recognition.
Then the elder looked away.